


I Bet My Life (when it comes to you)

by Summerfall



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summerfall/pseuds/Summerfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma has sacrificed herself to the darkness. As she fights against it within herself, her loved ones strive to help her. When Killian takes the leap into the Dark One’s realm, he will be faced with her biggest struggle as the darkness threatens to consume her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Bet My Life (when it comes to you)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written prior to season 5A and was my take on how the Dark Swan saga would resolve. (Publishing now due to new account).
> 
> Huge thanks (and many chocolates) to the brilliant and talented msgenevieve447 who more than beta’d for me, providing support and encouragement through my first CS writing. I wouldn’t be as happy with this fic without you!

One moment he’d been chasing after Emma, jumping through the archway as the mist closed behind her; the next he was floating in obscurity, darkness surrounding him. Killian tried to turn around to gauge his whereabouts, something that proved fruitless when the same monotony greeted him. He wasn’t even sure if he moved or not as there was no solid surface for him measure his movements.

Following her into the unknown was possibly a foolish decision on his part, but if this was his final chance at saving her from the Dark One’s grasp, he would go down fighting for her, come hell or high water.

They were running out of time to get Emma. He knew it. They all did. Knew it from the Dark Swan’s taunts and from the pieces of knowledge Emma had given when she was able to break through the darkness for brief periods of time, the intervals growing shorter and shorter as weeks slipped by.

It feels like drowning, she’d said when his Emma had fought through to the surface, grasping onto him like a lifeline. I’m present but it’s like I’m bound and it keeps pushing me back, dragging me down. I feel like I can’t breathe, Killian. Her voice had broken on his name, tired and full of desperation. He had held her tight, murmured words of encouragement, told her that they’ll get her back; that they won’t give up, just please stay strong.

By then, however, the Dark Swan was back, stepping away in disgust, a harsh laugh escaping her lips.

Each visit from the Dark Swan was another blow to the soul – the cruel accusations of abandonment thrown at her parents, thanking them for making her this way; or when she approached Henry with brutal words of ‘honesty’, belittling his optimism, his need to believe, calling them illusions of grandeur (“No Henry!” Emma had gasped out, “Don’t believe a word of this!”).

Even Regina wasn’t exempt from her provocations, feeding her guilt of allowing Emma to take on the darkness, that there’s no hope for a happy ending for the likes of her.

But if the Dark Swan’s aim was to break them, to bring their morale down and to forsake her – it failed. For they saw the hesitation in her eyes, the uncertainty in her steps and the pain that flashed across her face; know that she is struggling within and fighting tooth and nail for them. If anything, the Dark Swan has only made them more determined to bring Emma back to her family.

When they’d discovered the archway, Henry had announced it as ‘the final frontier’. At Killian’s confused look, the lad had said he’d show him the DVD when all of this is over, while David had muttered something about the worst film ever. It had been a moment of lightness that perhaps had been out of place, perhaps inappropriate, but something they hadn’t realise they’d needed.

It also provided hope, that when this is over (not if), they would be together. Giving up wasn’t an option, it’s not what this family does, Mary-Margaret had declared, a slight nod to Killian in a silent affirmation to his inclusion. It meant more to him than words could say. Regina had predictably scoffed but with no real malice. Henry grinned, undeterred as always despite his frustration at snapping the quill; he was still the glue that held them together. The darkness was consuming Emma, the moments when she fought for control growing few and far between, taking her mind, body and soul, but they were not going to let her go without a fight.

The archway had been hidden in the depths of King Arthur’s castle, the gateway to where the Dark One originally resided; where it was at its full potential and where it means to take Emma. It required powerful and complex magic to summon it open, and while the Dark One’s power had waned over the centuries, it was by no means less menacing. Merlin had described the Dark One as a symbiont – it requires a host to channel its power while giving them what they want most: strength, courage, power, fame, fortune. However, these hosts all possess the same quality: fear, greed and most importantly, they’re without their own power.

In short, Emma was the perfect host and her magic had been the catalyst it had needed; the symbiotic relationship had become parasitic.

Killian gave a start when his feet touched solid ground, bending his knees to accommodate the sudden return of gravity. His surroundings shifted, light bleeding through the darkness.

Suddenly, he found himself in a schoolyard.

After the silence of the darkness, the sound of screaming and laughing children assaulted his ears. He shook away the abrupt change, desperately trying to getting his bearings. His attention drawn by a nearby commotion, he made his way over to a small group of children, his gaze finding a familiar (and yet very different) face.

Emma.

A smile lit up his face at the sight of the adolescent Emma, with her tangle of golden hair and fierce green eyes, still growing into her slight frame. His smile faded, however, when he heard the jeers and taunts thrown her way. Words like ‘worthless’, ‘unwanted’, ‘dirty’ were shot like arrows. It wasn’t until a giant of a boy with cropped hair sneered, “What are you gonna do? Run to mummy? Oh wait, you don’t have one!” that Emma finally snapped and sent him flying backwards with a punch to the face, a satisfactory crack filling the space in-between and blood spurting from his nose.

That’s my brave lass, he praised, but any satisfaction he felt was stymied by the sight of the teachers rushing in with words of blame as they ushered Emma away. Killian stepped forward, wanting to explain, to defend on her behalf but the scene faded.

The world shifted around him, then he found himself standing in a darkened hallway in what appears to be a modest house. Young Emma stood across from him, pressed against the wall as she listened in on the conversation filtering through the door. He went to join her, holding his breath as he placed his hand on her shoulder. She was warm to his touch, but she gave no indication to his presence, and he unhappily realised he was merely an observer to her life story.

“…can’t take this anymore. You said taking in a foster child would help us but all I can see are our bills climbing higher. The money from the system barely covers these costs and they’re all for her!”

“Well, what do you want to do about it then?”

“Take her back; tell them that we’ve made a mistake.”

Heart twisting in his chest, Killian watched the tears track down Emma’s cheeks. He ached to hold her, to comfort her, but he was worse than invisible to her. As far as this Emma knew, he had never existed.

And so it went, as he was taken from memory to memory, from Emma being shuttled from foster home to foster home, to the physical and emotional abuse (where he actually launched himself at the culprit to no effect of course), from running away to surviving on the streets. Years of neglect and broken trusts and promises transformed her before his eyes, wounds never healing, scars never fading as an everlasting reminder, laying the foundation for the walls surrounding her heart.

When the reel of Emma’s childhood finally ended, his head pounded with the onslaught of emotions raging through him, second only to the pain crushing his heart. He found himself wondering at the purpose for this trip down memory lane. Was it a guide? A warning? What the bloody hell were the powers in this place trying to impart?

Spitefully, the darkness offered no answers to his questions and settled around him once more. He found himself out on an open field, grass crunching beneath his feet; sky absent of stars to guide his way. The sound of a child’s crying led him to a swing set; one swinging gently in the breeze, the other occupied by a girl no more than five or six summers, her arms curled around the metal chains, her small hands pressed to her face as she quietly sobbed.

It was Emma, a younger version this time. He crouched down before her, a soft smile on his face as he took in her yellow and white chequered dress, her feet bare and dirty, golden hair escaping her braid. He couldn’t resist tucking the errant strands behind her ear and was surprised when she spoke to him.

It seemed he was no longer a mere observer in her memories.

She told him that she wanted to go home, but the bad lady won’t let her. Very much afraid he knows exactly which ‘bad lady’ she’s referring to, he offered his hand and promised to take her back, to protect her from what she fears. When, after a small moment of hesitation, she tentatively placed her small hands within his, he felt the painful ache in his chest lessen.

His moment of peace was not to last. 

The silence of the night was broken when a violent gust of wind revealed the presence of the Dark One in its raw form, a black mass resembling a poor imitation of a human. Its voice echoed in the space, dripping with malevolence as it revelled in the irony of Killian’s predicament.

Now’s your chance to kill the Dark One, the voice whispered hotly in his mind, and he tightened his grip on the child’s hand. All those wasted years, the pain and agony; now you can finally claim your prize, pirate.

He glared at the dark form, jaws clenched as conflicting emotions ran through him with the overwhelming need to attack. He had lost himself in more ways than one when Liam and Milah had been taken from him, lost himself to the seething rage and unquenchable thirst for revenge, buried under the persona of Hook. His life was bleak and meaningless beyond his vengeance. That was until Emma had brought him back, thrown him a lifeline and gave him something to live for, had given him a home and revived the man trapped underneath.

He would fight for her until his very last breath, even if it meant saving her from herself.

The Dark One’s dagger shimmered into being before it. Killian braced himself, certain it was meant for him. Releasing the child’s hand, he reached for the sword at his side but grasped only cold air instead. He had dropped his sword in his rush to reach the archway.

The dagger landed at his feet, and he realised with a sinking heart that dagger was for him, but not in the way he’d expected. The Dark One was offering him a trade – his life for the child’s.

He declined, of course he declined. And not just because the child had grabbed his hand once more and gazed at him with innocent and frightened eyes. Emma’s eyes.

No.

The darkness whispered that he would perish in this world if he stayed, that if he did as bid, he would live to fight the bigger fight. By my side, it added as its dark form stretched out into long pale legs, form fitting black dress that clung in the right places, silver blond hair aglow and blood red lips. Isn’t that what you always wanted? We do make quite a team, after all?

She stepped closer, canting her head to one side as she regarded him, lips curling in a semblance of a smile, “Don’t you love me, Killian?”

He locked eyes with those of the Dark Swan. The same green eyes that differed in its subtlety, lacklustre without the clarity and spirit that is Emma. She looked like his love, but he knew better. The real Emma was trapped beneath the dark, shimmering surface of the creature who wore her face. “I love Emma.”

“Then do this for her.” She pressed the rough handle of the blade into his hand. “Save her from the pain and misery she will have to endure.”

The blade of the dagger gleamed up at him, the intricate pattern highlighting Emma’s name, strengthening his resolve. “No, I’m not killing Emma.”

“I’m the true Emma!” the Dark Swan hissed, all traces of bargaining and cajoling vanishing. She gestured at the child, her hand slashing through the air like talons. “She is weak and pathetic. She had all this power and refused to use it to its full potential – what a waste! Tell me Hook, why would you want something so broken?”

“The Emma I know is the girl behind me and she’s the most important part of you. She’s your heart, the pure and innocent beauty that resides within you, who believes, who continues to love despite everything she has been through.”

The heart he vowed to protect, to guard as his own. She had taken his own into the sanctuary of her hands and breathed life back into it; he could offer no less.

“You may think her broken, but she has endured and she is strong and I embrace every single broken part of her that makes her who she is.” He forced himself to meet the Dark One’s eyes, desperately trying to see past the brittle surface to the woman he knew still dwelled beneath. “That includes the darkness but that isn’t who you are so no, I will not take away the best part of you.”

She stepped away from him, her lips pulled back in a snarl. “Silly boy, don’t you know? It’s the heart that gets in the way. If you refuse the offer –” a casual wave of her hand and the dagger disappeared from Killian’s grasp, returning to its owner’s possession, “I’ll just have to get rid of it myself.”

The dagger sliced through the air with unnatural speed, precise in its trajectory and filled with poisoned malice. Killian barely moved to shield Emma before he felt the blade pierce his abdomen, felt the warmth of the blood seeping through his clothes, felt the grass beneath his knees as it gave out under him and he crumpled to the ground.

While he teetered on the precipice of consciousness, before succumbing to the fog rolling through his mind, he heard Emma scream, felt her by his side as she shook him, begging him to wake up.

***

Emma hadn’t understood what was going on, didn’t know how she got here. The mean lady wouldn’t let her go home, even when she’d yelled and screamed and begged. Not that she paid any heed to her orders, traipsing off into the fields to find her own way back. Somehow, though, she’d always seemed to find herself back at the swing set. She’d been shown recordings of other Emmas, girls with her face, younger and older, and it made her feel horrible. Sometimes, the mean lady would come back to make her feel even worse. Occasionally, she’d get flashes of images, memories she didn’t really remember, memories that made her feel warm and loved. Other times, she just felt cold and bereft in this lonely place, missing home.

It wasn’t until the man with the dark hair and the pretty blue eyes (she didn’t notice the hook until later, she thought it was pretty cool) had shown up that she felt safe. He felt familiar even if she hadn’t met him before and that annoyed her (that fleeting thought that tickles your mind but remains elusive, not that she really comprehended that).

When the mean lady had called him Killian, something clicked because she knows him, knows that he won’t kill her, that he’ll keep her safe. She didn’t know it meant at the expense of his life. And this feeling – she knows this feeling of heart-breaking, gut-wrenching pain that tore through her. Nothing a five-year old should feel. Recollection of another place, another time presented itself when she also saw the life leaving his eyes.

She squeezed her eyes closed upon the onslaught of memories, of her mum and dad (who didn’t choose to abandon her); of Henry and his never-ending love and belief in her (and she can’t let him down, can’t run away); of various friends who have become part of their dysfunctional family; of Killian, her pirate, her love, who scaled her walls, kissed her scars and would die infinite times for her.

I am Emma Swan.

Warmth spread through her limbs and she felt a weird pulse thrum through her, from the love the memories evoked and from the rage simmering in her veins towards the Dark One (whose taunts were barely heard above the roaring in her ear).

She remembered drowning, battling for control with the Dark One, trying to control her magic so that it doesn’t hurt her loved ones. Remember the moments when she had pushed through only to be dragged down, reduced to a single voice in the back corner of her mind. She can’t fail now, she knows this, for her family and friends (heck, for the whole damn world if she was noble enough).

Her hand found the dagger and she grasped it tightly. “I’ll fix this,” she whispered to Killian. She rose, barely registering that she had returned to her true age, and lunged at the Dark Swan, plunging the blade deep into her chest.

The Dark Swan looked stunned, clearly not anticipating this sudden turn in events. The first hint of fear flared in its eyes as it tried to push Emma away, “What? How – let go of me! You can’t do this!”

Emma held fast, even as the Dark Swan’s face turned feral. “It’s over, I won’t let you hurt anyone else.”

A ball of warmth lodged near her naval, humming with anticipation. She called to it, letting it fill her, focussing it, pushing it outwards. Bright light burst from the dagger, spreading to cover both of them as the landscape twisted and spun around them. Fissures began to form on the Dark Swan’s façade before it burst into slivers of black smoke that was quickly enveloped by the light.

Outside, the smooth surface of the archway began to crack as light started to stream through it, then with a burst of brightness, both Emma and Killian were unceremoniously thrown out of it.

Emma had barely got her breath back (and she knew she’ll have an impressive bruise from the landing) before she scrambled to Killian’s side, ignoring the startled and confused cries from the rescue group.

There was no stab wound, no blood, and she can feel his heartbeat as she entwined their fingers together. “Killian?”

He groaned, eyes fluttering open and as his gaze fell on her, the first genuine smile he had in months graced his face. “Swan, you did it.”

“I had motivation,” she smiled tremulously and squeezed his hand, “Just do me a favour will you? Please stop dying on me.”

He gazed at her softly, drinking her in, eyes looking beyond the physical, “Thing is love, you know I’ll always come back for you.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and she furiously willed them back. He grinned, his eyebrow quirking up in a way that was so very him, “Besides, I’m a –“

She didn’t let him finish as her lips crashed down on his. She had missed him. No, more than that, she had felt him missing from her.

He responded with vigour, his hand coming up to tangle in her hair, pressing her closer. PDA be damned. The feel of him, the taste of him, every breath bringing her back to life, bringing her back to herself, anchoring her to the here and now.

I am Emma Swan.

They finally broke for air, foreheads touching, nose brushing, refusing to yield contact as they shared a smile. His hand cupped her face, thumb tracing her cheekbones. “And Emma? I love you, too.”

(She’d once told him that nobody saves her but herself; she’d relied on no one but herself for so long that having someone to shoulder her burden was almost a foreign concept. But despite the walls she had fortified over time, he had slid past her defences like the pirate he is. Truth is, he had saved her before she’d even known she’d needed saving.)

***

Later, after tears and hugs were exchanged, apologies were offered, and wounds were mended, they bid Camelot farewell. That night found the group settled in the Charming’s living room with the promised Star Trek movie playing (“Seriously?!” Emma groaned in amusement) and pizza boxes scattered across the coffee table. Emma found herself sandwiched between Killian and Henry, her son enthusiastically explaining the fandom to a very bemused pirate, with additional commentary from David. Regina and Robin escaped ten minutes into the film, with much eye-rolling from the former, arms full with a dozing Roland as they bid them goodnight.

Henry fell asleep three-quarters of the way through the movie, head falling lightly against Emma’s shoulder (When did he get so tall?). Emma woke him with a gentle nudge and an affectionate kiss to his temple. He mumbled something unintelligible as he stumbled upright. She reached out to catch his hand, “Hey kid.” His bleary eyes settled on her, and she gave him a smile that she felt in every inch of her aching body. “Never stop believing, okay?”

His eyes brightened as he graced her with a sleepy smile. “Love you, Mom.”

Her heart full, she watched him trudge upstairs before turning to embrace her parents tightly, murmuring words of love. Pride, too, because they’d done it.

Against all odds, they’d done it. Holding true to Emma’s beseeching words before she sacrificed herself to the darkness, they had fought with true hearts and pure intentions to bring out her light, unwavering even in the face of her malignant powers. Despite their past failings, they had had fought to do the right thing, even when it was the hardest thing to do and against overwhelming odds. To this end, they have established themselves as true heroes (they all were) as far as Emma was concerned. Bundling up baby Neal, they also retreated to bed, leaving her alone with Killian.

She sighed as she settled back into his waiting arms, head resting on his chest, fingers tangled in his many charms. His hand combed gently through her hair, a soothing motion that has her relaxing into him as the tension eases from her muscle; the exhaustion she has been keeping at bay ebbing closer.

She woke to the feeling of Killian’s lips brushing her forehead, whispering a soft goodnight. He had carried her to bed, her duvet pulled up to her neck (if she wasn’t so tired, she would have giggled at the fact that Captain Hook had just tucked her into bed).

He turned around at the sound of her voice and responded to her request for him to stay by sliding off his leather jacket and toeing off his shoes (which he lined up neatly next to her boots at the foot of her bed, of course). The hook was twisted from his brace and placed on her bedside table.

Easing into bed beside her, he curled his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Emma leaned back into him, allowing the heat from his body and the scent of him envelop her like a second blanket. It was a tight fit in her narrow bed but it was comfortable nonetheless. It felt right.

“Killian?”

Warm breath tickled her ear, “Yes, love?”

“Thank-you for bringing me back.”

She felt him exhale softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Of course, Swan. I swore I would.”

Words were never her strong suit, especially when it comes to expressing her feelings, when words seem less than adequate. But she needed to let him know, even if he already knew, that those words were not said in haste, or a goodbye. She turned in his arms so that he can see the sincerity in her eyes, laying her palm over his heart.

“Killian?”

His gaze traced tenderly over her face, “Yes, love?”

There was no hesitation this time. No question in her heart and mind. “I love you.”

He smiled, eyes alight with understanding and unsaid emotions as his arms tightened around her. “And I you.”

There will be many more things that will need to be discussed, relationships to mend and demons to face. The Dark Swan has left its mark – but like everything else, Emma thought as she snuggled into Killian’s warm embrace – they’ll face it together.


End file.
